


Double Team//Gunk Shot

by faustin



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Dick or Treat, F IS FOR FRIENDS WHO DO STUFF TOGETHER, Facials, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, two for one special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faustin/pseuds/faustin
Summary: Piers doesn't do encores, but he does do after-parties.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 127
Collections: Dick or Treat - Scrohto Region





	Double Team//Gunk Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dick-or-Treat 2020.

“Your show was amazing tonight,” Raihan says cheerfully, which is nice of him. Piers appreciates the compliments. He just doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond with a dick down his throat. Maybe that’s the point. He’s not always sure what’s going on in Raihan’s head. Or Leon’s, for that matter.

“Absolutely cracking,” Leon agrees, which. Again. Balls deep. Piers can’t say he minds too much, though – the praise settles warm in his chest, and he arches his back, grinding into Leon. Leon chuckles. His hands are big, and rough, blunt where they dig into Piers’ hips and _yank,_ pulling him close. Presses in and just holds him there, deep as he can go. His thighs are hot, hair coarse where they press flush against the back of Piers’ legs. Raihan’s dick is jolted out of his throat with the force of it, and he gags a little, but keeps his mouth open. Tongue out while Raihan feeds it back to him, inch by inch.

“You’re so _talented_ ,” Raihan pants, and maybe it’s just how genuine he sounds – like he’s almost surprised by his own reaction – but the words have Piers squirming, clenching around the dick in his ass. Leon’s grip on him tightens, but he doesn’t move. Raihan’s got his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he groans when Piers’ lips meet his fist, their eyes locking. He’s always so vocal during sex – him and Leon both. Piers used to worry about them getting kicked out of the hotel, or worse, alerting the media. Now, he doesn’t care. He just played the biggest show of his life, and he’s celebrating with the Champion and the strongest gym leader in the region. Let the whole city hear. He holds it for as long as he can, until he has to pull away to breathe, tears in his eyes, and Raihan cups his chin, rubbing a thumb across his lip.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over Piers’ head and makes eye contact with Leon. His teeth flash white, neon like the pink-green-blue lights washing in through the window as Spikemuth’s downtown district pulses around them. Leon moves.

For all his strength and enthusiasm, all his boundless energy, Leon has tremendous self-discipline. It shows in the way he moves against Piers, fucking into him at a steady pace until his cock is grinding against Piers’ prostate and it’s just this side of too much. Only Raihan’s hands keep him from collapsing face-first into the mattress. He’s wrecked, he’s _so_ fucked, still riding high on post-concert adrenaline and nerves, and the moans being rattled out of his throat with each thrust take on a new dimension when Leon’s hand snakes around his hip, fingers teasing the underside of his cock. Raihan cups his face, palms scorching against his cheeks. Did he always smile like that, sharp, with a hint of fire? Some pokemon and their trainers adapted a little too well to their partnerships; Piers has wondered before if Raihan takes after his dragons, or the other way around.

“You look incredible onstage,” Raihan murmurs, leaning down. His lips brush Piers’ forehead, tender in contrast to the way Leon’s taking him apart at the other end, each flex and buck of their hips making the bedframe squeak. “But I think you look best like this. Doesn’t he, Leon?”

Leon makes a noise of breathless agreement, shifting the angle of his thrusts, and the pressure that’s been building low in Piers’ belly for the past few minutes sharpens into sweet, aching focus. He yelps when Leon’s hand finally wraps around his dick and gives it a proper stroke, thumb working at the head – after so little sensation, the shock of it is almost too much. Raihan’s thumbs caress his cheekbones, mirroring it.

“The best part, though,” he says, so soft that Piers can barely hear him, “is that only we get to see you like this.”

It’s too much – Raihan’s voice, the hand on his dick, the unceasing rhythm of Leon’s hips. Piers comes with his face buried in Raihan’s thigh to muffle the noise, hands twisted in the bedspread while Leon wrings him dry. He has to lay there for a minute to catch his breath while Leon eases out of him and gets rid of the condom, Raihan petting his hair and making pleased noises. Everything is pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. A shadow falls over him as Leon rejoins them, and Piers sits up, motioning for them to move back. Slides off the edge of the bed and kneels down, tilting his head to squint up at them. Florescent lights buzz overhead, rendering halos. Leon’s still hard, dick jutting out like it’s begging to be sucked; Raihan had gone soft while waiting, but he’s already starting to get hard again, jerking himself off with long, lazy strokes. Piers rakes his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, and smirks, just a little. Just enough to egg them on.

“C’mon then,” he says. “Time for the finale.”

Maybe it’s weird that he enjoys this part so much. Some people say it’s degrading. But right then, watching Raihan and Leon watch him, Piers doesn’t feel degraded. It’s like the end of his best shows, standing center stage and soaking up the applause and adoration, all eyes on him while the crowd roars for more; like that, but private and in some ways, more intense. He feels _worshipped._ The muscles in Raihan’s forearm flex, his throat working as his head tips back, and Piers closes his eyes just in time. Cum spatters hot across his face, dripping down his forehead and nose as Raihan’s groan echoes from deep in his chest. Leon moans seconds later, and this time Piers opens his mouth. He catches some of it, salty on his tongue. The rest stripes his lips and chin, hot on his cheeks, and then there’s silence, broken only by their panting. Piers swallows, licks his lips. Wipes it out of his eye, then touches his bangs with his clean hand and frowns.

“You got it in my hair again.”

“Sorry,” Raihan gasps, not sounding very sorry at all, and elbows Leon. The sharp grin is back, his one elongated canine poking out over his lip. “Looks like I beat you this time, though.”

“Shut up,” Leon says, but there’s no heat in it when he gives Raihan a friendly punch in the shoulder. Piers shakes his head.

“Not everything has to be a competition, y’know.”

“Can’t help it.” Raihan crouches down in front of him, tilts his chin up with a slick hand. Kisses him firm on the mouth, tongue darting out to lick the cum from his lips, and Piers moans without really meaning to – he’s not ready to go again, but he might be soon if Raihan keeps this up. “That’s why I only surround myself with the best.”

Leon had retreated while they were kissing, but he’s back a moment later, bed protesting as he climbs back onto it. He settles with his legs on either side of Piers, one hand affectionately rubbing his shoulder. The other hands him a towel. “Here.”

Piers snags it with a nod and does his best to clean his face off, though he still feels sticky, the smell of sex and sweat thick in his nostrils. He’s definitely taking another shower. Raihan’s moved next to him so he can nuzzle into Leon’s calf, watching Piers through half-lidded eyes. He does that sometimes. It never gets less unnerving. Piers clears his throat, looks away.

“So, you really liked the show tonight?”

“One of your best yet,” Leon says, and Piers scoffs, leaning against the foot of the bed. It’s not a very convincing scoff – it’s hard to sound indignant while Leon’s playing with his hair.

“You don’t have to put me on.”

Leon laughs. “I’m not putting you on! It was amazing. Raihan, back me up.”

“Couldn’t take our eyes off you,” Raihan says, and there’s that grin again, flashing across his face.

Piers has seen it a thousand times – on magazine covers and Instagram and sparkling in TV interviews – but in person it never fails to make his heart race, the same way just being near Leon does. He still can’t believe this is real sometimes. His face burns, and he scrubs at a patch on his cheek with the towel, staring down at the carpet between his bare feet.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “I, uh. Don’t expect you to be at every show, y’know? But… ‘s nice, when you are.”

“You can count on us.” Leon has this way of saying whatever cheesy shite pops into his head like he really means it, and somehow it just works. Piers hates that it works. “Marnie might have Team Yell, but you have us.”

“And us?” Raihan’s fingers find his and tangle together, squeezing. He sounds both fond and unimaginably smug. “We’ll always be your _biggest_ fans.”

“I hate you,” Piers tells him while he and Leon laugh, and hides his face against Leon’s knee so they can’t see him smiling.


End file.
